


Good Girls

by moojuicey



Category: Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-01
Updated: 2012-01-01
Packaged: 2017-11-07 02:58:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/426163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moojuicey/pseuds/moojuicey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. Irreverent reverend's daughter Angela Weber moves to Ann Arbor, shaking things up on her new cheer squad. And rendering a semi-firmly-maybe-definitely-closeted Jessica into a hot, gooey mess on the locker room floor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good Girls

**Author's Note:**

> This was written based on a prompt from a now-departed friend for a charity auction. It borrows heavily from "Bad Girls," an episode of Joss Whedon's Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Bring it On, and Glee.
> 
> None of which I own.

“You’re telling me _never_? Never ever?”

 

Our legs spread over green grass, Angela bent forward, and I pulled on her arms to help her stretch her hams. The other Chi-chis were paired up, sole-to-sole, stretching as well.

 

I rolled my eyes at her question.

 

Angela was the new girl, and my ever-present sense of charity had dictated that I show her the ropes at Pioneer High. And then during cheer tryouts she’d pulled an Arabian double-front full-out tucked hypolito. It was pretty much the most amazing tumbling pass any of us had ever seen.

 

Like, Olympics good.

 

Like, Tatiana Groshkova good.

 

(Like, please bed me now because I _need_ those impossibly flexible legs wrapped around me good.)

 

Anyway, I realized within a millisecond that she wasn’t the type to need anyone to show her ropes of any kind. She knew the ropes. The ropes knew her. She was one with the ropes already.

 

“All this time, not even once?”

 

Her question jerked me back into reality.

 

(And away from the hot memory of her legs and the way they made me fan myself on tryouts day.)

 

“How many times do I have to tell you? I have never,” my voice stretched along with my hamstrings as I leaned forward, “ _done it_ with Mike Newton.”

 

Across the field, the football players were running drills and practicing passing, gearing up for the start of the season. Pioneer had a good chance of going all-State this year since Tyler and Eric had bulked up over the summer, and word was that scouts from two Big Ten schools had already scheduled interviews with a couple of players, Mike included.

 

“I’m sorry,” Angela said, not sounding sorry at all, “it’s just… hot cheerleader,” she said, motioning to me, “star running back, all this sweating, side-by-side action on the football field, and you two never put in for a little after-game… unh?” she finished with a suggestive grunt.

 

I stood to do the next set of stretches before cheer practice officially began, pulling Angela up with me. “He’s just a friend… mostly.” I wasn’t going to explain any further—too many questions. “It ruins friendship to do that stuff.”

 

“Says who?” Angela asked with a defiant expression. “You think too much.”

 

Before I could come up with a response, a rogue pigskin sailed toward Angela’s head, and I jumped for it.

 

“Oof!” I exclaimed, the force of the catch knocking me into Angela’s soft body.

 

“Nicely diverted!” Angela said, helping me gain my footing again.

 

Mike and a buddy jogged up to reclaim the football, and Mike took me by the shoulders for a few seconds, evaluating. “Oh, man, I’m sorry Jessica. Are you okay?” he asked. I nodded, still willing my diaphragm to expand. He grinned. “That was a great catch, though! You could teach the guys a few things about timing!”

 

“Hey, fuck you, man!” Marcus joked back. “Hi, Angela,” he said with a smirk.

 

“Hey, baby,” she replied, returning the smirk.

 

He sidled up to her and spoke in a stage whisper. “When you gonna let me come see you, sweetheart?”

 

“When you learn that people standing three feet away from you can still hear your voice, honeybunch.” The words bit like lemon, but her voice was sweet as sugar syrup. She pushed him off.

 

Mike and I both laughed, and he took the opportunity to grab the ball. He towed a dumbfounded Marcus with him to rejoin their teammates a few yards away. “Come on, studmuffin.”

 

“Just friends, huh?” Angela teased, watching Mike jog away. “You cannot tell me that _that_ doesn’t get to you. It’s just… he’s so… and he’s such a…” she made a purring noise, and I had to agree, just a little bit. Mike was good looking, built, and sweet. Absent, maybe, but good-hearted and God-fearing. I just didn’t feel any of the down-low tickle that Angela always talked about. Not when I looked at Mike, anyway.

 

(Or any of the other boys, for that matter.)

 

Really, the only thing that had ever given me much of a tickle at all was Angela in the locker room the other day, but I was pretty sure that was an accident. I certainly wasn’t about to ask if she meant her hand to graze my ass, anyway.

 

(A girl can only hope…)

 

“Okay, kitten. Let’s focus on cheer, please. You can go snack on Mike later if you like,” I teased back.

 

“Nah. A girl just likes to look sometimes. You know I gotta be careful about messing with any youth group guys.” Angela’s dad was the newest pastor at St. Mary’s just down the street, and his first order of business had been to start up a youth group. He had Angie recruit her friends from school, and they came in droves—as if she were the messiah herself. What can I say? She’s… inspirational.

 

(Yeah, that’s the word. Inspirational.)

 

Pioneer High was the kind of place where kids got one label, and in the few short weeks she’d been here, Angie had earned hers handily. She had a mandate among the boys at school.

 

Yep, I paid all kinds of attention in Civics class. Occasionally.

 

I shook my head, wondering how she got away with half the things she did—and how she justified them to herself, considering our faith. Then again, I had just as much to answer for, even if all I ever did was fantasize.

 

“Chi-chis!” Miss Souer yelled, clipboard in hand as she made her way along the sideline toward us. We huddled up and got down to business. We did a few more stretches, ran a couple laps on the track, and experimented with a few new routines Souer had cooked up. By the end of practice, we were sweating and spent.

 

Angie and I collapsed in a tired heap when we finished our last cool-down lap.

 

“I don’t know about you, Jess,” she said, panting, “but I just wanna sleep. For like a week, yo!”

 

These first few practices of the season were always tough, but it sounded like a solid plan to me.

 

(Holed up in bed with Angela for a week? Burrowing under the sheets and sharing secrets, growing closer…)

 

(Stealing kisses…)

 

(Lord, help me find the strength to not jump this unsuspecting girl’s bones…)

 

“Completely. Think they’ll notice if we skip school for a few days and nap?” I asked, only mostly kidding.

 

“I most certainly would, Jessica,” Miss Souer said in her ‘serious’ voice. That woman was one to look up to, sure, but that voice was just creepy. We listened when she used it largely to make her stop using it, not because it was any kind of intimidating.

 

“Okay, girls, the school is looking for something from you this year. Other than your boundless enthusiasm and pert behinds, I mean.”

 

Angela stifled a laugh and the rest of us followed suit.

 

“Considering the recent indiscretions of a few of your fellow students, the school is requiring you and your parents fill out an additional piece of paperwork this year. Take one and pass them down.”

 

One by one, I watched as Chi-Chi mouths dropped and brows knit together. It looked like we were all about to get a crash course in fellatio on very large cocks.

 

(Gross.)

(Grooossss.)

 

But as the murmurs started, my interest grew. Angie and I were toward the end of the pack and among the last few to get the handout.

 

I didn’t even have a chance to register more than a few key words—among them “future” and “abstinent”—when Angela stood up and ripped her sheet in half.

 

“Screw that,” she said as she stormed off.

 

“Angela Weber! Where do you think you’re going?” Miss Souer called, but it was futile. Angie didn’t even look back. I turned my attention back to the sheet of paper.

 

And upon closer inspection, I wondered why I hadn’t just said the same.

 

_As a young person of integrity, I, (blank), make the commitment today to refrain from any sexual activity during the coming academic year. The security of my future—here at Pioneer and beyond—depends on my commitment to remaining abstinent until marriage._

_I respect my body, my family, my future spouse, and my future children enough to make this pledge on this (blank) day of (blank), 20(blank)._

 

_Signature (blank)_

_Parent or guardian signature (blank)_

 

“I want those signed and back to me in the next week. The school board was very clear—it’s your signatures or your uniforms.”

 

“What about Angela, Miss Souer?” Alice asked.

 

“I’ll talk to her, and I suggest you all do the same. She belongs on this team, and we need to help her make the right decision.”

 

I might be a girl with plenty of faith, but wasn’t the whole point to salvation being right with _God_? What difference did it make to my school what sins I committed?

 

And what in the world prompted all this, anyway? The only “indiscretion” I knew of was Bella getting _way_ knocked up last year. But seriously? She and Edward were practically married already. She had the kid over the summer and built-in child care during the year in the form of Edward’s SAHM Esme. Plus it’s not like they would ever hurt for money, those friggin’ overachievers.

 

What part of any of that amounted to an “indiscretion,” exactly?

 

I wasn’t sure signing this piece of paper had anything to do with the “right decision.”

 

**

 

“Tell me you’re not signing this shit,” Angela begged in the Sciences hallway the next morning.

 

“Fuck Angela, I haven’t even had any caffeine yet,” I complained. The vending machine gobbled up my dollar with a groan and finally relinquished its hold on my Cherry Coke. Ang tapped her foot impatiently while I gulped down half of it and belched.

 

“Not your best work. I’ll give it a six. Now can we please talk about important things? Like the amount of ridic packed into the hundred-odd words on that page?”

 

I kept pace with her down the hall toward Chem class. I didn’t think I’d ever seen her so keyed up this early in the morning.

 

“Yeah, it’s ridiculous, yes. But you weren’t there for the part where we sign or hand in our Chi-chi uniforms,” I pointed out. I nearly ran smack into her, nose-to-nipples when she stopped dead.

 

(yum, Angie’s nipples…)

 

“Nuh-uh. Oh, that’s a bunch of bullshit,” she said, determined. To do what, I wasn’t sure, but I didn’t have to wait long. Her eyes scanned the halls quickly. “Mike! Emmett!”

 

“Hey, Webs! Whoa, what’s the bitch brow for?” Emmett asked.

 

“Is Coach making you guys sign those bogus forms, too?”

 

“Yeah, all the teams got ‘em,” Mike said, chewing on an apple.

 

“I heard the plan is to get everyone in school to sign one. They just want us to do it first to ‘set an example’ or some shit,” Emmett added.

 

“You two aren’t gonna fold, are you?”

 

Emmett shrugged. “What other choice do we have? Coach said we sign or hand over our helmets.”

 

“God, this is sick. They’re the freakin’ sex-Gestapo of Pioneer High,” Angela fumed. “Hey, will you guys do me a favor?”

 

They nodded.

 

“Will you hold off on signing? Just for a few days? I’ve got to think of something,” she explained, her mind already working. I pulled her along to the lab, trying to beat the final bell.

 

*

 

She was still deep in thought when Mr. Berty _finally_ finished his lecture on covalent and ionic bonds.

 

I never paid attention in Chemistry. It was, like, Newton’s fourth law or something.

 

He assigned us some busywork, and I stared at Angela’s pretty hair some more. I loved the way it turned up at the ends.

 

(Like it just couldn’t handle being all-the-way-straight.)

(But that was just wishful thinking on my part.)

(Sigh.)

 

The thing I couldn’t figure out, though, was why this was such a big deal for her. Technically speaking, we were supposed to be abstinent until marriage anyway, pledge or no pledge. Angie was already going against the rule, why would signing a sheet of paper make a difference?

 

I asked her as much at lunch later that day.

 

“A lot of reasons. First of all, the church doesn’t outlaw sin, right? Sure, it’s frowned upon and all, and you have to repent for it, but the church knows—people are sinners. Trying to forbid people from sinning is just gonna make ‘em sin more.” She ripped off a piece of bread from her sandwich.

 

“Mark my words—if we all sign those, ten to one a handful more girls get pregnant this year.”

 

She had a point. We were rebellious creatures, after all.

 

“And for me, anyway, who cares what the school wants? I’ll do with my body as I see fit, and if I gotta make it right with God later, I’ll do that, too.”

 

Damn, she made all kind of sense. I hadn’t liked the idea of the pledge just because it was just some paternalistic effort on the school’s part to reify our role as the ‘irresponsible children’.

 

I occasionally pay attention in Sociology.

 

“Yeah, you’re right,” I agreed. So maybe I wasn’t in the habit of doing much of anything with my body—besides the usual—but that was my decision to make.

 

Sort of.

 

Angie had it in one—God wanted us to make the commitment not to sin because we loved Him, not because our spot on the cheer squad depended on it.  

 

“Do you have a plan, then? I mean, what else can we do?” I asked.

 

“Whatever we want! You and me’re head cheerleaders—the chosen two. We have power, we’ve just got to figure out how to leverage it,” she explained, her expression incensed and thoughtful.

 

“Do you think they’d really kick us off the squad for not signing?”

 

“Dude, you know Souer better than I do, but even I know she’d do it. But she’s a bully, and they all back down when they’re pushed. What if… what if none of us signed?”

 

Now there was a possibility. Miss Souer might be willing to chuck a few of us, but the whole squad? Then her precious dreams of a four-tier pyramid would go straight out the window.

 

“Might work. D’you think we can convince all the girls?”

 

“Leave them to me.”

 

**

 

Miss Souer looked like she was about to burst a few blood vessels. All in all, it would have been an improvement over her splotchy skin.

 

“Listen to me, you willful, insolent—what in God’s name do you think you are doing?”

 

“Exercising my right to choose whether I sin. Free will, Miss S. God’s greatest gift,” Angela retorted, crossing her arms over her chest.

 

(I tried not to let it distract me.)

 

“And my girls, here? They’re with me.”

 

Somehow, she’d gotten all the girls to tear up their pledge sheets. Whatever their motivations, Angie had known them and convinced them that we were in the right to defy the school. She knew that some fights were _definitely_ worth fighting. Unfortunately, we couldn’t get the boys to do the same—some of them had too much at stake to risk losing a place on the football team.

 

We understood the politics of it all, of course. It wasn’t as though any Big Ten schools were coming out to offer _us_ full scholarships for cheerleading. Even though we were all serious gymnasts, we were somehow worth less than them because we had the coordination to shout “Go! Team! Go!” while we did our tumbling passes.

 

But that didn’t mean we were powerless, and we meant to prove it. We were worth more than just a little “Ra-ra!” spirit—we did a lot to make sure these students were dedicated to their teams and the teams were dedicated to winning, and we deserved for the school to be dedicated to us. Our job was more than just sitting back and following orders—we had an important role to play, and no one—least of all, Souer—was going to convince us otherwise.

 

So there we all stood—defiant, powerful.

 

“What makes you think I won’t drop you like day-old garbage?”

 

“Then I’m… whatever. Cheer-dust in the wind,” Angie said, unperturbed. “But I’ll tell you this—you need me. You need _us_ to give your job some semblance of meaning. What are you going to do, hold tryouts to fill all 20 spots?” She took a breath to let Miss S think about that.

 

“No way,” she continued. “We’re the best. We’re hardcore gymnasts—athletes—and we’ll stay that way, with or without you.”

 

“This is about your future, Angela. You of all people should understand the importance of abstinence!”

 

Angela’s eyes narrowed in anger. “I might like to get my fuck on, but that doesn’t mean I’m a fuck-up. The candy gets wrapped up before it gets in. I don’t do drugs, I get good grades. Hell, I’ve got applications started for eight colleges already. And I don’t. Lie.” She counted each positive off on her fingers.

 

“And signing that shit, saying I’ll keep my fly zipped? No way, that’s not the truth.”

 

“Just what would your _father_ say about this, Weber? Would he want his daughter playing the harlot?”

 

“My father knows enough. And he taught me that God would rather I own up to my sins than lie about them!”

 

This was probably the best entertainment we could hope for the rest of the year. Even the football players were watching, much to Coach D’s dismay. I could see him flailing every so often to get their attention, but it couldn’t have been helping, given the purplish hue of his face.

 

At some point, Rosalie stood up and left the field. She came back a few minutes later with butter-free popcorn.

 

They were still fighting. At this point, we couldn’t pick out their individual arguments, but now and then a few words would come through, loud and clear. 

 

“—rebellious cliché—”

 

“—egotistical has-been—”

 

“—isn’t a Tupperware party—”

 

“—not unlike twenty against one—”

 

“—talking about securing your future—”

 

“—securing your authority you mean—”

 

“—ungrateful—”

 

“What do you even know about high school kids? Huh? Did they even train you on how to relate to us? Understand us? Shut up and _listen_ sometimes?” Angela asked finally.

 

“I didn’t get this job because of my looks!” Miss Souer yelled.

 

“I really, really believe that,” Angie replied, deadpan.

 

A few Chis tried to muffle their laughter, but most of us couldn’t contain ourselves. I’d forgotten how fabulous an ab workout laughing that hard was.

 

The whole afternoon was worth it, even when Miss S decided to punish our “disrespect” by making us scrub the girls’ locker room. I could brave a little sweat and dirt if it meant I could watch Angie put Souer in her place like that.

 

The more I hung around Angela, the more I liked her. It wasn’t (just) about the down-low tickle anymore. She was smart and stuck to her guns, but had respect for those who gave it. She was at peace with who she was, and knew God loved her.

 

It was that last part I envied a little.

 

Miss S handed us armloads of cleaning supplies and threatened suspension for all of us if the floor wasn’t clean enough to lick in the morning.

 

“I want you all to think about your place on this squad, and whether your signature on a sheet of paper is worth throwing it away,” she said, looking at each of us in turn. Still, it wasn’t hard to see that she was shaken.

 

She left us in the locker room and headed home for the night.

 

Surprisingly, none of the other girls seemed upset that we had to stay late or anything. They were all buzzing about the fight, throwing around words like “fuckawesome” and “utter win.” I completely agreed, by the way, but I thought someone would be mad about the scrubbing-the-floor-and-toilets punishment.

 

“It’s like I was telling you guys,” Angela opined to a few of girls. “Life of a Chi is very simple—you want something, you take it!” She grabbed me by the arm, adrenaline driving us both.

 

“Right, Jess? Repeat after me: Want. Take. Have.” She grinned as we all parroted her words and cheered our own small victory.

 

“I told you we had power, Jess! Feels insane good, doesn’t it?” Angie asked me as she filled up a bucket with water. “Tell me you don’t get off on it.”

 

(Unbidden, I imagined just what else Angie might get off on.)

 

“It doesn’t suck,” I agreed.

 

All of a sudden, feedback screeched through the PA system in the locker room as Jane plugged her iPod into the speaker input.

 

And a few bars of synthesizer later, we rocked out to the mellow song stylings of the lovely Lady Gaga. Ang turned to me, smiling, and sang.

 

“Rah, rah, ah-ah-ah.”

 

I chuckled, but went with it. “Roma, roma-ma-ah,” I sang. Most of the other girls joined in, singing or dancing with the music.

 

One subject in which all Chi-chis paid attention?

 

Gaga.

 

The music, the task, and the company easily translated into both the best evening of my life and my worst nightmare simultaneously. I knew I was a good dancer, and could boogie my way into giving several of my guy friends erections—or so Mike told me—so I danced as hard as I could. It was the only way to distract myself from Angela’s dancing, and the way her shirt rode up on her stomach sometimes, exposing a few inches of sun-kissed skin.

 

I danced even harder when Angie took my hand and danced with me, mouthing the words to the song.

 

(Like she meant them for me.)

(But she didn’t, of that I was sure.)

(She might be adventurous, but I was certain that Angie drew a line somewhere.)

(Right?)

 

“You know that I want you… you know that I need you… I want it bad… bad romance…”

 

(Like I said. Best evening, worst nightmare.)

 

We made our way through our Lady’s discography, scrubbing and dusting and spraying and gossiping the early evening hours away. Leah and Emily left before dinnertime, but they had the heaviest schoolwork loads, so we didn’t give them too much lip. Each time someone left, Angela seemed to push both the dancing and the conversation into dirtier territory.

 

(Um, yum.)

 

When all that remained were youth group ladies—Angie, Alice, Rosalie, and me—we’d turned down the music a little and our conversation evolved into a discussion of sex and God.

 

Typically two topics that did _not_ mesh, Angie worked her spell and made it seem like the most natural turn of conversation.

 

“What does your dad say about all of it? He’s gotta be upset, right?” Alice asked.

 

Angie thought for a moment. “Not really,” she said finally.

 

Rosalie snorted.

 

“He’s not, I swear!” Angela said, flicking Rosalie on the shoulder. “You’d think he would be, but we’ve had this conversation before. I’m never going to win the Scripture battle, but he knows I believe I’m right with God.”

 

“So he really goes with the whole, love the sinner, hate the sin?” I asked, intrigued. “Even with his daughter?” The idea that he could accept her as she was, without judgment, was crazy to me. I needed to know more.

 

“Well, it’s not like he _wants_ me to fuck around,” she clarified. “But I just interpret the teachings a little differently. And he knows the important part is that I have a good relationship with my Lord and Savior.” She finished off her spiel with a sign of the cross.

 

Sometimes, she was a complete mystery to me, and I loved that.

 

“What do you mean, you interpret things _differently_?” Rosalie asked in disbelief. “As far as I’m aware, it’s all spelled out pretty clearly.”

 

Angie rolled her eyes. “Go ahead, then,” she offered with a sigh.

 

“First Corinthians. ‘Your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit. Therefore honor God with your body’,” Rosalie recited.

 

“The whole verse is actually a lot longer than that, but okay. Interpreted the traditional way, having sex before marriage dishonors God, right?” Angela began.

 

We all nodded. That was the generally accepted Church viewpoint.

 

I paid enough attention in church to get the gist, anyway.

 

“I don’t know, I sort of see it the opposite. After everything else, He gives us these bodies that are capable of so many things. Think of what we do with them every day, just doing our cheer routines—it’s amazing. I see pleasure as a way to thank Him, to reward that body for all it does.”

 

She shrugged as if it were the most obvious conclusion.

 

“Romans, verse eight,” Rosalie countered.

 

“‘We must not live to satisfy our desires. If you do, you will die,’” Angela recited without pause. “I’m sorry, but I just can’t see a God—who made us in His image—designing us with these intense cravings for human interaction and then forbidding us from acting on them.”

 

“So basically,” Rosalie began, “you’re just interpreting Scripture in a way that allows you to do whatever you want.” The scorn was clear in her voice.

 

“Tell you what, Rose. How about you let _me_ worry about my immortal soul, and you worry about keeping your boyfriend from staring at my tits every day during English class. How’s that sound?”

 

Rosalie gave her a scathing look, collected her backpack, and stormed out the door.

 

Alice, the last of our squad mates left at this late hour, threw an apologetic look at Angie and                                            me. “She’s my ride. I’d stay and help you finish,” she said, gesturing to the buckets and mops and rags that littered the floor, “but…”

 

“It’s okay, Alice,” I replied. “Go on.”

 

“Yeah, I was gonna stay behind anyway. Thinking I should lather-rinse-repeat a few times to get the Souer out of my hair,” Ang quipped with a smile.

 

Alice laughed. “Thanks, I owe you. For finishing this up, and for convincing us to stand up to her. It was the right thing to do.” She grabbed her bag and ran after Rosalie, waving as she left the locker room.

 

Angie and I gathered up all the cleaning supplies, the silence between us comfortable. I was thinking about what she said—about how our bodies did these incredible things for us, every day, and all I did was wish mine were different.

 

(That it responded to men instead of women.)

(That it would flush and throb when I looked at Mike, instead of Angela.)

 

And what did feeling _this_ way about myself get me? Besides a self-esteem complex and resentment toward a deity I was supposed to love?

 

“So, you seemed to know what you were talking about back there. With Rosalie? You knew what she was going to say before she said it,” I commented. Finished with the cleanup finally, Angie turned on one of the showerheads and paused to think for a minute.

 

“People were the same at my old school. They would throw verse at me as though I didn’t know it already,” she explained. She stuck a hand under the spray to test its temperature.

 

“I mean, I could probably quote more of it than all of them combined, but they thought—and I’m sure some people here think—that because I don’t fit their labels and expectations, I must not be a good Christian girl. It’s like, what, I can’t have layers?”

 

It was the same way here at Pioneer. As much as I wished we could be more progressive—heck, we were in the middle of one of the most progressive college towns in the history of college towns—we just weren’t.

 

“Not legally,” I said, tongue-in-cheek, and I chuckled to myself. “Here, you get one label only.”

 

“Whatever,” she retorted. She turned to smile at me. “Screw ‘em. That’s not the way the world works.”

 

“It’s the way the Pioneer world works,” I insisted.

 

“Maybe it doesn’t have to. Look what we did just with this pledge nonsense. Maybe we could make bigger changes.”

 

“We do make a pretty good team,” I agreed.

 

She hip-checked me with a smile. “Anyway,” she began, pulling up the hem of her shirt, “people are complicated. One label—or any label in the first place—is never going to explain who someone really is.”

 

One look at her pretty bra, and the way it cradled her small breasts, and I was nearly lost. I shook myself mentally, and searched desperately for a response that wasn’t me begging her to unsnap it.

 

(Unsnap… unsnaaaaaap…)

 

“It’s like, if you let people see a new side of you here, suddenly that’s all you are,” I said. “I guarantee that by first period on Monday, you’ll go from ‘The Preacher’s Daughter’ to ‘Troublemaker’ in everyone’s mind. And that’s what you’ll be… That’s all you’ll be to them.”

 

“But not to you?” she asked, toying with the drawstring on her cotton shorts.

 

“Nah, I know better,” I reassured her, ignoring her fingers to the best of my ability.

 

“Good.” She turned around and let her shorts fall to her ankles. I had no reply but to mentally drool. “So tell me about your layers, Jessie.”

 

This was getting out of hand. Up until now, I’d been sure that she was straight as a pin. I’d brushed off all her smiles and hugs and innocent touches as just that—innocent. As far as I knew, she’d only been out with a few boys at our school. In none of the gossip—and there had been plenty—there hadn’t been one whisper that she’d kissed-a-girl-and-liked-it, so to speak.

 

But then she turned back toward me, her mouth turned up in a knowing smile, and she asked me a seriously dangerous question.

 

“Any deep, dark secrets you’d like to share?” Slowly, she reached behind her back and unsnapped her pretty white bra. My eyes were fixed on the black polka dots and the little blue bow between the cups.

 

I swallowed hard, and shook my head.

 

“Everyone has a whole universe beneath the surface,” she whispered, letting the straps fall, but holding it in place.

 

She knew.

 

She’d know.

 

If she moved any closer, she’d be able to see my heartbeat, frantic, in my neck. She’d smell the blood rising in my lips… and my lips. She’d feel the gooseflesh on my arms. She’d realize, and I’d be—

 

And she loosed her hold on the bra, and it fell with a muffled click on the tile, barely audible over the stream of water.

 

Angela reached for me, and my brain, in its inebriated state, could only obey. She took my hand and put it around her waist, using her other to brush my ponytail back. “I know bits of you,” she said. “I want to know the rest.”

 

“Which bits?” I forced out, petrified she knew the pieces I tried so hard to hide.

 

“That you’re fierce, and beautiful, and alive in every way but one: You try so hard to convince yourself you don’t want this… But I know.” She held my gaze, staring into my hidden places. “You want it.”

 

And then she was kissing me, all soft lips and damp hands and warm breath. And I didn’t have the strength to protest anymore, to fight what I knew was inside me, what she saw and understood better than I did.

 

She peeled off each piece of soiled clothing slowly, deliberately. She wanted me to feel every moment of my surrender, and so I did. I closed my eyes, trying not to anticipate where her hands would land next, and shivered with each new touch.

 

Fingertips along the sides of my torso as she lifted my shirt…

Nose skimming down my neck as she reached to unhook my bra…

Palms ghosting over my legs as she lowered my jeans…

Lips pressing against my stomach as she tugged on my underwear…

 

My head spun, trying desperately to stay in the middle of each moment as it happened. These were things I’d thought I’d never get to feel, never get to experience.

 

Before _her_ , I might never have even known it was possible to think and feel these things. And before today, I would never have _let_ myself think them or feel them.

 

For once, my snark well was empty, and my usual pit of sarcasm had nothing to offer to ruin this moment.

 

Angie pulled me into the stall with her, and tilted my head back to let me wash my hair while she teased my nipples with her fingertips.

 

Her fingers were cold against my flesh, but the water was warm enough in contrast to make it refreshing, rather than biting. She trailed them over the tips, and then along the soft undersides of my breasts. I was too scared to watch, to see, to move at all, really. But Angie didn’t seem to mind. I closed my eyes and let her touch them however she would.

 

I felt her hot breath as her mouth closed around one nipple, and I couldn’t stop myself from leaning back against the shower wall. She drew nonsense patterns against it with her tongue, slow then quick, never in the same direction twice.

 

And when she took my nipple between her teeth, my stomach tightened with the unexpected pleasure of it. The moan I gave, however unintentional, was honest.

 

“Feel good?” she mumbled against my skin, repeating the action with her eyes trained on mine.

 

“Mm-hm,” I said, nodding.

 

With her lips against the skin of my breasts, and my neck, and my ear, and my stomach, and my thighs, and all the other sensitive spots that don’t really have names, she whispered. Told me how special and lovely I was, just as God made me.

 

Or maybe she didn’t use those words, exactly, but I knew that’s what she was saying. And that’s what I felt.

 

I planted my hands behind me on the tile for support. Hers wandered, never stopping long in any one spot. She seemed to be hungry to learn my body, using her palms and fingers to explore everywhere she could. She carefully avoided my inner thighs and everything between them, though each time she drew her hands down my legs, I wanted more and more for her to touch, to taste, to love.

 

But Angela took her time. She introduced me to each new sensation with reverence and affection, slowing down and speeding up when I needed her to. Maybe I showed my inexperience by not reciprocating, but she seemed to understand.

 

She probably understood better than I did.

 

When I felt her hand finally descend, I held my breath. She rested the heel of her palm over my mound, cupping me in her whole hand. Softly, she pressed her mouth against mine and her hand against places only my fingers had ever ventured. It was a slow rhythm, a massage, debilitating and delicious…

 

I could feel myself melting, opening up, inviting her to come inside, where it was warm. Angela slowed her massage and drew two fingers together against my singing skin. She looked me in the eye.

 

“Want,” she begged.

 

“Take,” I told her, catching her meaning.

 

 “Have,” she whispered, and dipped those fingers into me, her forehead falling against my neck.

 

My legs spread involuntarily, giving her room… and permission. My entire consciousness was focused on her fingers and how they split me in two. Angela had done it once already—split me from my carefully crafted lies, pulled the truth out of me with her thoughtful words and her perceptive eyes.

 

And now she was doing it again, pushing inside and pulling me toward this unknown pleasure. Forcing me to acknowledge my truth. To see my body for the brilliant things it was capable of experiencing.

 

Slow and methodical, building me up to it, she made me want to experience it again and again. Her two fingers inside beckoned me forward, and when she added a thumb against my clit, I thought I would never catch my breath again. Never tell my lies again. Circling, circling, pushing, pulling, pushing, her fingers begged and begged until I couldn’t—wouldn’t—had to give in to her. My eyes squeezed shut, and my fingers tightened around her shoulder, and I came hard against her hand.

 

It was a good thing the wall was still behind me, because Angie collapsed against me, drawing breath with nearly as much difficulty as I was. I wrapped my arms around her—once they started working again—and buried my nose in her wet, disheveled hair.

 

We both realized the water was still running, and I giggled. I felt lighter than air and just about ready to fly away when Angie pulled me back down to earth. She washed my body, and then her own, dropping kisses in seemingly-random spots. I wondered what her criteria were for choosing which places to press her lips, but decided I didn’t much care, as long as she kept kissing me.

 

Angela turned the water off and smiled at me. She laced her fingers in mine, never letting my gaze drop from hers, and I knew I was in big trouble.

 

“You ready?” she asked.

 

My face stretching into a grin, I realized I kinda liked it that way.

 

“Yes.”


End file.
